Dagger Key and Other Stories

Framed by the lighted rectangle of the window, the Germans’ mood is easy to read. The man, Klose, is negligible. Weakness shines out of him. He fingers his wedding ring, plucks at his shirt, his anxiety displayed in every gesture. But Annie recognizes in the woman, Selkie, a strength akin to her own. The way she looks down at her breasts, inspecting the white cloth that covers them and flicking off a speck of imperfection, then restores her gaze to the window and smiles—like a woman who knows she’s being watched and enjoys the experience. Another couple walks past, headed for the bar, and Annie steps deeper into the shadow. Once she is certain no one else is about, she enters the bungalow. The Germans stare at her expectantly; their eyes fall to the cloth bundle under her arm.

“Is that it?” Selkie half-stands, then sits back down.

Annie holds up her hand, cautioning them to stay put; she quicksteps into the bedroom, has a look around, then retreats into the outer room and lowers the window shade.

“There’s no one else here,” says Klose.

“Where’s me brass?” asks Annie.

The Germans are confounded by the question, and Klose says, “What do you mean?”

“Me brass,” says Annie impatiently. “The money.”

Selkie says, “We will see the cross first.”

Annie sets the bundle down on the edge of the table and steps back. The Germans come to their feet and Annie snaps at Klose, “You…sit! Let the bitch have a look!”

Klose retakes his seat and Selkie—in her greed, unmindful of having been referred to as “the bitch”—leans over the table, begins unwinding the linen rags, going carefully, as if what they cover were made of glass. She gasps when she glimpses the gold and, when the cross is revealed in its entirety, its surface worked with carvings of birds and fruit, leaves and vines, symbols of nature’s abundance, the great ruby glowing like a heart, diamonds glinting coldly under the yellow light, it seems to Annie, as it always does, a pagan thing, an object of power…and Selkie, trailing her fingers over it, says in hushed tones, “Ach, du meine Gute!” She turns to Annie, apparently overcome, unable to speak, and, after hesitating a moment, she flings her arms about Annie’s neck, presses her lips to Annie’s mouth.

If Fredo were the recipient of that kiss, he would almost certainly push her away, but his soul has been tamped down into a quiet corner by Annie’s cloudy presence, and it has been a very long time between kisses for Annie. The pressure of Selkie’s breasts, her pliant lips, the intimate physicality of hips and loins…it’s as though these sensations are restoring Annie’s body. A phantom body, yet she feels it nonetheless. Her nipples ache with longing, her quim grows juicy. She cups Selkie’s buttocks and pulls her closer, recalling another, firmer ass, and darts her tongue into Selkie’s mouth…

the serpent-kissing,

soul-stealing, silk-skinned,

female-fleshed demoness of lust,

licking pleasure from a woman’s slit,

’til it yields lavish, thick-flowing treasure…

…Mary…

…and then she does push Selkie away, roughly, recognizing that she is not Mary, but a whore who would get on all fours for a gentleman’s mastiff if the purse were sufficient, or even were it not.

Klose is smiling, a crooked, febrile smile, and Selkie, flushed, wipes her mouth on the hem of her shirt with undue thoroughness, as if wanting to remove every trace of spittle, and Annie, her head spinning, dizzy from the kiss, no matter how false, once again demands her money.

“In the cabinet. The one on the left.” Klose points to it. “Shall I get it for you?”

Annie eases around the table to the cabinet he’s indicated. It’s empty, but for a biscuit tin. She removes the tin, rests it on the counter and pries up the lid. Packets of bills inside, each bound with a band that states the value of the packet is five thousand dollars. She tells Selkie to sit, saying that she has to make a count. Selkie complies, still dabbing at her mouth, and, their backs to Annie, the two Germans fondle the cross as if it were a thing alive.